Painting Your Roses
by Strawberry Requiem
Summary: After the abuse at the hands of Vaughan Urien and Rendon Howe, Tabris has a hard time acclimating to life beyond the pain, even after being released. She turns to the Wardens as her new family, and finds a home and camaraderie within their ranks. Alistair x Tabris/Mahariel x Leliana. Multiple Wardens.
1. Chapter 1

Dragon Age and affiliated characters belong to Bioware and Electronic Arts.

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A pack of plump rats scampered along the cold, damp stones of the dungeon floor. Their squeaks of communication echoed through the cavernesque halls, but did nothing to overshadow the sounds of torture that otherwise filled the walls as though it was pleasant chamber music. The air was rancid with the stench of rotting flesh, which only seemed to excite the fat vermin that infested the holding cells. Within the bars of every occupied antechamber, the sallow faces of their prisoners peered out. Every face, filthy due to poor hygiene, and every body, insubstantial from lack of proper nourishment. Most were reduced to their smallclothes, though all bore the countless injuries that their Jailor seemed to take extreme pleasure in inflicting.

In one such cell was a tiny elven girl, who seemed out of place amongst the other prisoners. Her sweet face and meager frame made her even more the oddity. Rhyann was her name, and despite her otherwise innocent appearance, she had been locked in her festering cage for many months, only to be freed for the routine beatings or the occasional rape. The cell that she was currently standing in had been her home for longer than any of the other prisoners had been there, which would have made her the talk of the dungeon, permitting the other prisoners actually spoke with one another.

With starvation setting in, Rhyann knew that she was going to die in that cell. It had been months since Vaughan's men had thrown her and Soris into the dungeons, and months, even, since Arl Howe personally deposited Vaughan in the cell across from hers. She honestly didn't remember what she had done to wind up in her predicament, save waking from a blackout, covered in human blood, with the bodies of Lords Braden and Jonaley at her feet. At least when it was just her and her cousin, Vaughan remembered to feed them, even if it was coupled with ritual beatings and rape. But, Rendon Howe was apparently forgetful, or, towards the elves he was. But, who wasn't? That was why she was locked in this cell, after all, because of human cruelty and ignorance. And, she would die in that very cell because of that same cruelty forced upon her because her ears pointed at the end instead of coming to a pleasant curve. Hunger gnawed at her shriveled stomach as she stood there, knowing full well that she wouldn't last much longer without food.

Somewhere in the dungeons, the elf could hear a commotion. This seemed to be the case since the Howe family took over, as Rendon seemed to enjoy nightly escapades into the torture chamber. She knew this because sometimes it was her on his slab, and sometimes, when she was lucky, it was that pig across the narrow dungeon chamber from her. Those were her favorite nights, the ones where Vaughan's shrill cries of pain echoed through the halls.

But, this wasn't her current keeper's doing. He, and several mages, had whisked past not long ago, hardly paying them any attention on their way past the holding cells and into the rooms beyond. Hopefully, this was someone who had heard about her and Soris's imprisonment, someone who would rescue them. She clasped her frail hands together as she snapped her eyes shut in an attempt to utter a prayer to the Maker.

Vaughan laughed cynically at the sight, his emaciated body jiggled up and down as if there was something humorous about the imagery. "The Maker wouldn't send anyone to come save a knife-eared bitch like you." The last part slithered between his teeth as a hiss, as if he was recounting bitterly what the tiny girl before him did. "Braden or Jonaley's fathers probably heard that I was locked up and sent men to come rescue me."

Instead of indulging the hateful comments directed at her, Rhyann continued with her eyes shut, thinking of how to word her pleas for freedom. "Please." She begged aloud, not sure if she was even doing this whole 'pray' thing correctly. It wasn't exactly something that the City Elves did, seeing as the Maker had rarely shown any of them much compassion prior. "Please, if you hear me, send someone, anyone, to free me from this cell. I…I just want to see my father and Shianni again. I'll do anything—I'll fight the Blight that Howe has been talking about." Her hands shook as she spoke, obviously weak from malnourishment.

As quickly as she uttered her prayer, however, the ruckus in the other chambers went silent. Rhyann slumped, with her arms dangling aimlessly on the bars of her undersized cell, her hope crushed. More than likely, one of the jailors forgot to lock up one of their other captives after a bit of torture and they caused a bit of a fuss. It wasn't uncommon, especially since half of the guards were slobbering drunks who couldn't tell the keys from their asses. So was the story of her life, and so she knew it would end; being reduced to nothing as a result of being denied food and water was not how she imagined she would exit the world.

Just breathing was exhausting at this point, just standing there was painful. All of her weight transferred to her breastbone as she leaned against the dirty bars of her holding cell. That position made it easier to remain propped up and thus easier to see the door and to discern if anyone would be approaching. She still wondered, even in fleeting, if the noise she had heard was not some sort of divine intervention coming in to spare her from death this day. Rhyann knew, however, that elves weren't so lucky, and slid her eyes shut, feeling what little energy she still had drain from her body.

Almost suddenly, the door to their wing of the dungeon swung open, startling Rhyann so much that it caused her to jump up, her eyes animatedly snapping open. It was then that the strangest thing she had ever witnessed happened.

In walked a woman, with pointed ears like her and hair dark as night. She wielded a pair of daggers that must have cost more than Rhyann could ever hope to have. The most striking feature of the strange elven woman, however, was her facial markings, blood writing, her mother referred to them as being called. Instantly, Rhyann knew that this woman had to be Dalish. What the likes of such an elf was doing in Denerim was confusing, but she wasn't about to ask.

"There are two more in here!" Called the woman after surveying the situation she had stumbled into. She instantly went to Rhyann's cell and started to examine the diminishing girl questionably.

Soon, the room filled up with fourteen others and a dog, ranging from humans, to dwarves, to other elves. Some had swords and other melee weapons, whilst others still had ornate wooden staffs strapped to their backs. All of which, however, were flecked with ridiculous amounts of blood. And, through the door that they were all entering in, Rhyann could see the spent bodies of the guards littering the floor.

The dark-haired Dalish looked directly into Rhyann's eyes, a soft concern befalling her purple eyes as she looked into the City Elf's sallow face. "What happened to you?" She questioned, obviously ignoring the human man in the cell behind her.

"What happened to her?" Howled Vaughan angrily. He threw his arms up in frustration, or possibly as a means to get everyone's attention. "Leave it to a knife-ear to instantly side with the…the animal who slaughtered half of my father's guards and my friends!"

It was obvious that the racial slur did not sit right with the Dalish, as she whipped around, her eyes burning with ferocious anger. "I wouldn't call the woman holding the keys to your cell 'knife-ear' if I were you." She taunted, jingling the keys she had more than likely stolen off of the dead Jailor teasingly in front of the man's eyes before turning back to the elf currently locked up. "I'm sorry for that, now please; tell me why Howe would lock up such a tiny little thing like you."

A scowl crossed Rhyann's face when her small stature was brought into question, but she wasn't about to argue. She was much too weak, and as the woman had already proven, she had the keys to her cell. Perhaps the Maker had sent this group to her aid after all. "Howe didn't lock me up." She corrected meekly. "They—they kidnapped us on my wedding day. He killed Nola…and—and…I don't remember. Just the blood."

"That's terrible! You have been put through so much, you poor thing." A red-haired woman with an Orlesian accent immerged from the sea of people and took her place next to the dark-haired elf. Her face was riddled with concern, which betrayed her otherwise blood-stained features.

Rhyann opened her mouth to speak again, but was cut off yet again, this time, by a blonde human man in heavy armor. She was having a hard time believing that a group with such a large population of humans would care to hear her tale, but in general, they all seemed genuinely worried, so she didn't bother to speak out against the man.

"I've heard of this, Lyna." Said the man to the Dalish woman, who was obviously the leader of these people. "Vaughan Urien kidnapped a group of elven bridesmaids and two brides on the wedding day so he and his drunken friends could rape them. The two grooms armed themselves and stormed the estate looking for the women and met up with one of the brides. They were apprehended by the guards after they slaughtered a good portion of the soldiers at Urien's estate and Lords Jonaley and Braden."

"How do you know that?" Questioned the Dalish woman who was referred to as 'Lyna'.

The man locked eyes with Rhyann momentarily, a sad look crossing his face as he did so. She must have been quite the sight, a starving, dirty elf, no taller than a Dwarven woman, and locked in a cell for supposedly killing a bunch of humans who had it coming. And, there he was, more than likely silently judging her as he stood there in his shiny, fancy armor. All of the human men who had stumbled across her in her filthy cage did, some even going so far as to mutter something like 'the bitch probably deserves this' as they walked past.

"Duncan had wanted to recruit a girl from the Denerim Alienage before Ostagar. He even took me with to go ask her, but when we arrived…it was too late. We tried to appeal to Vaughan, but he refused, claiming that she was already executed when Duncan brought up the Right of Conscription."

With those words, the man stepped up to her cell, probably to get a better look at her. She was barely hanging onto their conversation, but was trying her hardest to concentrate. It was hard, what with her belly constantly reminding her that it hadn't been filled in a long time, and her throat aching terribly with dryness. But, her confusion and curiosity got the better of her. What exactly was the armored man speaking of? "What is the Right of Conscription?" Her sheltered Alienage life did not provide the most comprehensive knowledge of the world beyond the big, gray walls, so she felt that her ignorance to the conversation was justified.

For a second time, the man's eyes met hers, as though he was trying not to stare directly at her, though he couldn't help it. When he noticed that she had, he looked elsewhere quickly, trying not to offend. "The Gray Wardens can recruit people who are otherwise bound to their fate forcefully because of the Right of Conscription." He paused; another sad expression fell upon the man's face before he continued. "I'm sorry that we were too late to spare you from this."

Vaughan thrashed against the door to his cell, enraged. His piercing eyes befell the human man and the Dalish woman menacingly. "You're sorry for _her_? She comes in here, kills everyone, and you sympathize with her?" He gripped the bars of his holding cell roughly, causing his knuckles to go white. "That bitch deserves nothing less than what she already has."

Lyna sunk the copper key into the lock on Rhyann's door and gave it a gentle turn. The door swung open, causing the small City Elf to go tumbling out. The dark-haired Dalish woman offered her hand to the girl to help her up from the spill. "I would tell you that you're free to go home, but it's currently impossible to get into the Alienage and you look as though you could eat a Halla." Once that business was taken care of, the woman with the daggers turned back to Vaughan, her eyes blazing with a sinister ferocity. "Just for that, you get to stay in your cell."

Pacing, the Dalish woman seemed to be considering something, and completely ignoring Vaughan's incessant howls of disapproval. Her brows furrowed beneath her ornate markings. She smoothed her hand over her hair as she thought. "Neither of the elves we released are in any condition to fight," she said aloud, voicing what she had been considering, "but they're also in no condition to make it to the Alienage unattended. We have quite the pickle on our hands."

Almost suddenly, a joyful smirk crossed the woman's face, causing Rhyann to become thoroughly confused. She was just happy to be out of her cell, and knew that she would push her weakened body to the limits just to get back home.

"I've got it!" Exclaimed Lyna, her hands clasped together. "Al: you, Misali, Sten, and Neria will take the elves back to Eamon's estate. We'll keep them there until they're healthy enough to return home. I'd feel guilty if either of them didn't make it."

The blonde man seemed displeased with this development. His otherwise concerned face twisted with disappointment in what the Dalish woman had said. "Lyna, though I agree with getting them somewhere safe, I think I should come with." He complained, his honey brown eyes widened hopefully, as though to coax a change of heart out of the woman.

Shaking her head and sighing, Lyna stepped closer to the man. "Alistair, I'm sorry, but my order stands. The Landsmeet is drawing near, and I'd rather avoid muddying up your name with breaking into Howe's Estate and possibly killing him when Eamon has all the intention of putting you on the throne." Her hands found her hips as she spoke to him. She had to crane her neck slightly just to meet his vision.

In the background, Vaughan's disgruntled howls grew. His steely gaze was locked on Rhyann, who had pressed herself into the wall just next to her cell, obviously overwhelmed. "I swear, if you don't release me at this moment, I will reign terror upon you." His vicious growl caused all of the heads in the room to turn to his attention.

However, the only response he received was a guttural chuckle from Lyna. She jingled the keys once again as a taunt, before slipping them back into her pack. "Tough words coming from a man who will be lucky to see the light of day." She looked to Rhyann, a wry smirk gracing her face. "Sweetie, what do you think we should do with this Blighter?" Her thumb jerked in Vaughan's direction as she spoke.

Having the prospect of power frightened Rhyann. Such power was never in her hands, and as she mulled over her vast amounts of decisions, her hands ran through the length of her dirty white hair. Nothing seemed low enough for Vaughan, she rationalized. In her eyes, his crimes were unforgivable, but death was too civilized for him. "Just leave him to rot." Said the girl finally, her voice quivered with every word. "He can be food for the rats."

"What?" Bellowed Vaughan. His anger was tangible on the air. "You would leave my fate to a…a whore? All of you will pay—"

"Shut up!" Screamed Rhyann, her petite hands clasped around her acute ears as the last syllable rolled off of her tongue. Her eyes fastened shut almost instantly after. It terrified her to think of what everyone in the room would think of her outburst. Even more frightening was the looks they were surely giving her. After some time hunched over like that, she dropped her hands back to her sides and opened her eyes, mortified to find that she was now the center of attention. "I'm sorry." She lamented, shyly.

Shock riddled Lyna's face initially, but a slight smile coupled with a giggle soon followed. "Don't apologize for your actions; justify them."

The outburst had taken a lot out of Rhyann. She trembled uncontrollably as her knees knocked together. Soon, the room was spinning, and with her failing legs, just staying upright was a constant struggle. Perspiration accumulated on her forehead and the palms of her hands. Just as soon as she begun to sweat, Rhyann's vision started to go. Blackness encompassed her world as she gripped the wall behind her in desperation. Losing her battle, Rhyann tumbled to the ground, relinquishing her consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

If you like it, drop me a little note in the reviews; it's a real morale booster!

Dragon Age and affiliated characters belong to Bioware and Electronic Arts.

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Rhyann had been awake for some time, though the prospect of opening her eyes scared her. She feared that being freed from her cell was nothing more than a sweet dream of a better life than hers. And, she would wake to find a smug expression plastered on Vaughan's face as he hung on to the bars of his cell just across from hers. Instead, she sniffed the air curiously, finding it smelled sweetly of wildflowers with a faint undertone of some sort of roasting meat. The savory aroma caused the elf's mouth to water. This only made her believe that every sensation was little more than a dream as well; though the food she ate back in the Alienage was tasty and filled her, it never smelled quite as decadent as whatever it was that was currently wafting into her nostrils. Her hands became tangled in some soft fabric below her body; she flexed her fingers, getting a good grip of the cloth and running it between her thumbs and forefingers.

The curiosity was just too much for her by that point, so she cautiously opened her eyes. Just beyond her lids was the most lustrous room she had ever seen. Rhyann was lying in a four-poster bed, which was made of a beautiful dark wood that gleamed in the candlelight. She looked down at her waist, to see it covered with a bedspread made of rich red and gold fabric. Beautiful paintings of landscapes decorated the walls. Even Arl Urien's estate wasn't as nice as this. A fine exotic rug lined the flooring, most likely from foreign lands. Ferelden craftspeople weren't known for their talent in weaving rugs.

But, how did she get there? Rhyann wondered this as her fingers continued to muss with the sheets below her. The last thing she remembered was her world going black and falling to the stone floor of the dungeon. Perhaps she died, mused the girl thoughtfully. It certainly made sense, seeing as she was deprived of food and water. This wasn't what she imaged the Fade would be like, and if she was dead, she had hoped that her mother would enter the room. Even though she passed when the elf was still a small child, and her memories of her were possibly fabrications of her imagination, she still missed her with every day and held her in the highest regards.

Looking back up from her lap, Rhyann noticed that she wasn't alone in this lavish room. She recognized him instantly as the blonde man from the dungeon. He was without his heavy armor, though, instead, wearing a simple tunic with trousers. When he noticed that she was awake, his stony gaze turned to instant relief. "You're awake! Thank the Maker." He chimed, taking a large stride towards her in the bed.

At him approaching, Rhyann lurched back in the bed. His sudden movement panicked the girl. Something about a human man drawing near sent her on edge, though she really couldn't recall why something so typical would cause her heart to race and sweat to form on her brow. She drew her legs up towards her torso as a means to put further distance between her and the strange man she didn't know. He didn't seem all that menacing; in fact, that grin on his face and the kindness in his eyes begged for him to be trusted. Still, after what she had been through at the hands of human men, she couldn't be too careful.

Throwing his arms up in front on him in surrender, the man ceased his tread. He waved his hands animatedly through the gesture. "I won't hurt you." He said apologetically, taking a careful step backwards. "I was just checking on you, honest."

Not one to argue, especially with strangers, Rhyann accepted his promise and eased up a bit. A watchful eye remained on him just in case. She relaxed back into the pillow. Since spotting the man, the elf had decided that she was, in fact, alive. This fact alone brought her much solace; at least she didn't leave her family behind. But, it didn't answer the question about her location, or how she got there. "Where am I?" She questioned, the confusion in her voice was heavy in every word.

"You fainted after we released you from the cell in Arl Howe's estate. I'm not sure if you remembered that. We took you here—to Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim. You've been out for two days." The man adjusted positions as he spoke. "I'm Alistair, by the way, and you are…"

"Rhyann." The answer the girl provided was feeble, barely audible due to the hushed voice she used. This was all so much for her to absorb, and a large part of her felt immensely guilty for burdening that group of people who had not expected to find a pair of malnourished elves slowly dying in Urien's dungeon. She was avoiding eye-contact with him for that very reason, and yet as her stomach started to gurgle in an unsettling fashion; she couldn't help but look at him in the most embarrassed of manners.

The sound was apparently humorous to the man—Alistair. A brief chuckle met his lips at the sight of the flustered elf now gripping her stomach uneasily. He realized, she assumed, that his laughter was more than likely uncouth, judging by the girl's expression of humiliation. "I figured you'd be hungry." Said the man with a note of gaiety in his tone. "I'll go get you something from the kitchens…permitting the cook doesn't yell at me again."

Rhyann watched as the man strode out of the room in search of food. "What a strange man." Said the elf to herself with complete conviction. It was as though he had completely missed the fact that she was an elf; any self-respecting human wouldn't allow themselves to run errands for her kind.

Her alone time was cut tragically short when the door opened. In walked the elven woman with the facial markings, looking more haggard than Rhyann recalled, but otherwise the same as the day in the dungeon. Though she didn't know this woman, except for a few minutes when she released her, Rhyann felt comfortable around her. Maybe it was because she was an elf, or because she was a woman, but there was something calming about her.

"You seem to be doing better." Hummed the Dalish woman calmly. She took a seat at the foot of the bed, her eyes danced over the smaller elf girl as if to examine her for further injury that was possibly missed on their first encounter. "My friends took good care of you when I was in Fort Drakon, it seems—where are my manners? My name is Lyna, and you're Rhyann, right? Your cousin, Soris I think… he's here too and was talking about you."

Soris's name filled Rhyann's ears, causing her large eyes to grow wide with excitement. During the months in her cell, she had known that he was locked up as well, but he was always in a different chamber, so she never saw him. "My cousin is here?" Her voice cracked as she spoke, a little shocked by the revelation. "Can I see him?" Family was _always_ an important, not only as one of Rhyann's personal convictions, but also as Alienage culture. They didn't have much, but they had each other, which was always more than enough.

"You should probably eat first. Wynne said that they force-fed you when you were unconscious, but it isn't quite the same as eating for yourself."

"That blonde human man went to get me something just a moment ago." Explained Rhyann quickly. There was no way that she was in any condition to go and get the food herself, and she knew that.

"You must mean Alistair." Confirmed Lyna, but mainly for herself. "After you've eaten, I'll take you to meet everyone and see your cousin. They're still not letting anyone into the Alienage, but the Queen's trying to pull some strings to get the Wardens in, so you may be staying here a while."

Tears welled up in Rhyann's eyes as Lyna finished speaking. For the whole time she was locked in that cell, she never cried because it would give Vaughan satisfaction to know he broke her. He did; the elf knew that he crushed the naïve, innocent girl she once was. And yet, here in front of a woman she hardly knew, she begun to do just that. Fat little tears rolled down her face at the memory of seeing Shianni brutalized, feeling the putrid breath of her tormenters crawling across her ivory skin, or the debilitating hunger the clawed at her belly for months. It all came rushing at her at once in one torrent of pain, causing her to hiccup uncontrollably as she attempted to mop up her face with the back of her hand. She glanced up at Lyna once, noticing her concerned gaze. "I'm sorry." Bellowed the elf in an attempt to stop the crying. "I just…I never thought that I'd get out of that cell. But, then you came in like a gift from the Maker and freed me."

Mentally, Rhyann slapped herself when she realized what she had said. The Dalish, they didn't believe in the Maker. And now this woman probably thought that she was uneducated and preachy for even mentioning the human God. "I'm sorry, that was probably rude of me." Muttered the girl in an attempt to back-peddle from her faux-pas. "You don't believe in the Maker…do you?"

"You apologize too much." Observed Lyna, though she remained composed through her speech. She turned slightly, to face the other elf more effectively. "Saying that I don't believe in the Maker would kind of be a lie." She explained. "My partner was a sister in the Chantry, and she believes in the Maker with such conviction that there must be some truth to it. Personally, I believe that the human deity 'The Maker' is one and the same with Elgarn'nan; the Chantry teaches that the Maker created everything, and the Dalish believe that Elgarn'nan created everything. It's not a widely accepted belief, but it's what I think is true." A brief smile cut her face after she explained her religious standing. "It wasn't rude, either. I have come to accept that not everyone believes the way I do."

"I'm not interrupting something, am I?"

Both elves looked up towards the door at the comment. Alistair had returned, carrying a wooden bowl of something obviously hot, judging by the steam emanating from it. He also held a bit of bread in his other hand, fresh-baked, if the smell was any indicator. "The cook practically pummeled me with her stew spoon." He joked light-heartedly, taking a few paces towards the bed. "She thought I was getting into the cheese again."

Lyna took the food from the man as he went to hand it to her. They both clearly knew that it would be easier for the woman to hand the food to their hungry new friend, so speaking of it seemed redundant. "Do you blame her, Al? Eamon had some fancy Orlesian cheese imported for Isolde's birthday, and you ate it all during one of your infamous midnight raids of the larder."

"You know, I hate it when you call me 'Al'." Chided the man, though the smirk on his face only made him seem otherwise unfazed by the remark. "And, we agreed never to speak of that again."

"Okay, _Prince_ Alistair." Teased the Dalish mischievously. Her words rolled off of her tongue just as she handed the bowl and bread over to the girl.

Abandoning any sense of manners that Rhyann may have had, the girl snatched up the food being presented to her. The spoon submerged in the bland-colored stew was neglected entirely, instead, she viciously ripped apart hunks of the bread, deciding that an edible utensil made much more sense at that particular moment. In her haste, the young elf scarcely tasted the food she was consuming at record speed. After about four mouthfuls, she looked up, a bit of the grayish-brown gravy ambling down her chin leisurely. Both Lyna and Alistair were staring at her; their eyes had grown wide with the spectacle at hand. Her shoulders slumped as the shame of embarrassing herself in front of strangers settled in. The near-emptied bowl was set in her lap in an over-exaggeratedly slow movement, lending to her theory that time had stopped.

"She looks exactly like you did at dinner the other night!" Roared Lyna, breaking the uneasy silence that had befell them. A raucous laughter complimented her statement. The Dalish then punched the man in the arm playfully, though whatever force she had put into the movement was lost due to being weakened by her mirth and the sheer unrelenting qualities of the compact muscles of his arm.

Alistair looked as though he wanted to laugh at the spectacle, for about the three seconds between the image of Rhyann with food on her face and Lyna scrutinizing his own eating habits. "I…that's not very nice, Lyna." The slightly hurt expression on his face matched the tone of his voice as he stammered through his words. Almost instantly, however, his composure changed, and his hand reached out for the knob on the door. "I actually have to go. Eamon has been hounding me to meet with him and Anora to discuss this whole 'Landsmeet' thing, and I've been avoiding both of them. I should probably get it out of the way."

While the other elf seemed concerned with the man's exit, Rhyann used her arm to wipe the food off of her face. Having a full stomach definitely helped to make her feel better, both physically and emotionally. Regardless of how she felt, she still didn't understand why a human man was concerning himself with her well-being. Since she was alone yet again with Lyna, it was probably a good time to ask about that. "Why was he helping me? Alistair, that is. He must have some ulterior motive for helping elves."

"Al? Ulterior motive? Are you sure we're talking about the same man?" Questioned Lyna curiously. She took the now-empty bowl from the smaller female and placed it on the table just beyond the bed as a means to help her. "Alistair's one of the nicest people I've ever met, and this is coming from someone who had a vendetta against every human who crossed their path just a few months ago. He's always treated the other elves traveling with us and I as his equals, so I think him getting things for you was just concern for someone who is otherwise incapable of doing it for themselves."

Lyna's words confused Rhyann. Maybe it was due to her sheltered upbringing behind the Alienage walls, but she was of the opinion that all humans saw elves as second-class citizens to be ordered around at their whim. She was still having a hard time believing that there was nothing to the kind gesture, other than just that; all the humans she met were always nice until they could get her to do what they wanted, then, they became mean. "I still don't understand." She admitted shyly.

"Humans can surprise you, sweetie; don't strain yourself mulling over the fine details." The Dalish rose to her feet with the slightest of bounces. "How about I take you to meet everyone now? I'm sure they'll be happy to see you're feeling better and you probably want to see your cousin."

At the mention of Soris, Rhyann practically bounced out of the bed excitedly. Her bony legs had never moved so quickly in her whole life, the girl figured. Already, she was overwhelmed with everything she was being faced with and was apprehensive about meeting even more new people, but if this woman had faith and trust in them, the young elf figured that they had to be nice enough.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm taking a brief moment to answer draupadi's question:

I don't want to give too much away for what I have planned, but simply put, yes.

Dragon Age and all affiliated ideas and characters belong to Bioware and Electronic Arts.

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With a childlike wonderment that seemed lost to Rhyann over the last months, she followed Lyna through the mammoth estate. She had never seen anything quite so lavish, or so well-decorated. What little bits she retained about Arl Urien's estate was stained, both mentally and literally, by the blood she shed, or that her aggressors had. This, however, it was entirely different. The paintings adorning the walls like fine pearls about the necks of noblewomen seemed so lifelike—one such painting gave Rhyann the impression that she could just jump into it and end up in the lovely, sun-kissed meadow it was depicting. The aroma of the estate was something she was otherwise unaccustomed to as well. When she passed a table, the woodsy scent of the Elfroot blossoms in the vase would greet her nostrils, but merely feet away, a more savory aroma of roasted duck and root vegetables would overpower her in the best possible way. She had never been to a human's home until the business on her wedding, and this was definitely giving her the impression that most of them lived in the lap of luxury.

In her daze of wonderment, the young elf completely lost track of Lyna. The estate was so monstrous that she had no idea where the Dalish woman could have wandered off to. Every second, the already-daunting halls seemed to stretch and twist in a frightening fashion. The ceilings were climbing higher up the walls, as if they were ivy reaching for the sun. Rhyann blinked, and then rubbed her eyes, feeling her tiny heart rapping against her ribcage desperately. Her breathing sped up to a slight hyperventilation as she tried to make sense of this irrational fear she was feeling quite suddenly. Some servants started to swarm around her as she panicked; the brave ones asked about her health cautiously, though none dared to venture close enough to touch her. Almost suddenly, the miniscule elf plummeted to the cold stone flooring, her exposed knees becoming scraped in the process. Self-control was lost to Rhyann as she collapsed onto the ground, her head hitting the hard stone flooring in the process.

When she woke, Rhyann couldn't discern how long she had been out for. Her thin fingers explored the side of her face and head, where one of Vaughan's friends had hit her just earlier. There wasn't a lump, or any bleeding, so that was a plus. Once she was sure that she was okay, the girl scanned the room: Shianni was comforting the bridesmaids and Valora, but it seemed to be for naught—Nola kept repeating the Maker's prayer over and again, as if no one was present. It only took a moment for Shianni to notice that she had woken; she left her post and cupped her hands over Rhyann's bony shoulders in a worried fashion.

"You're awake. Thank the Maker. You've been passed out since that…that—"

"—Is everyone alright?" Questioned Rhyann abruptly. She attempted to rise to her feet to check on Nola, but her whole body quivered through the action.

Shianni stood up as well and returned to her spot next to Nola. Her rough hands coursed along the bridesmaid's spine as a comforting gesture, but it seemed to be doing little. "We're fine…for now, but we need to do something about this." The red haired woman's tone was rushed and stressed. She was worried.

In disbelief, Rhyann stood there for a moment, having a hard time coping with the fact that she had been kidnapped. This seemed like an extreme lapse in judgment, and she had to believe, if not for herself then for the others, that Vaughan was just drunk. An Arl's son would never make such a decision consciously, and definitely, when he was sober, he would profusely apologize and return them home without so much as a scratch on them. "Surely we can talk this over with him. When he's not so drunk, I'm sure Vaughan is quite the reasonable man."

Shianni scoffed at the hopeless optimism her cousin was spewing. "He's not reasonable," she started, "he'll have his way with us, and we'll just go home and try to forget that this ever happened."

From outside the room they were being held in, the sound of a key sinking into the lock alerted the women that their captors were about to enter. Every single one of them rushed to the corner, with the exception of Nola, who remained hunched over mid-prayer. Valora was shaking terribly, and she clung to Shianni as though her life depended on it.

"Don't fight." Uttered Rhyann in a hushed tone to the others. "It'll just be worse; just do what they ask and it will be over quickly."

The door swung open. Several guards in armor baring the Urien crest strode in casually. Their leader, a man with the most piercing blue eyes, wore a wicked grin as he ventured closer than the others seemed to dare. "Hello, wenches." He taunted, his steely eyes glossing over each girl as though he was taking his pick of the selection. "Lord Vaughan has called for his," he chuckled, "female company. And it is my duty to deliver you to him."

Suddenly, Nola flew up from her fetal position and let out a horrifying shriek. Her eyes were wide and crazy as she looked on their captors with horror. The guard captain's response was simple, but cruel. He unsheathed his sword. And, in the same movement, slashed her throat. Blood spurted everywhere, coating the remaining four women as their friend collapsed to the ground. Nola tried to speak, but the only sound was a gurgling as she drown in her own blood. In mere seconds, she was dead.

"You killed Nola!" Howled one of the women, Rhyann couldn't see who. But, before another incident happened, the other guards collected the girls, save Rhyann, and dragged them off. This left her alone, and with three of the guards still. Their leader had proven that he wasn't averse to killing, and she was unarmed herself. This did not bode well for her.

"Lord Vaughan wanted you saved for last. Said you were the _pretty one_, and he was going to enjoy breaking you in." Hissed the head guard as he approached. His steeled boots made a soft clank with every step that he took, only frightening Rhyann further.

Her little heart was pounding, her whole body was quivering uncontrollably, and she had no idea what to do. "I—I won't fight. Promise." She stuttered, not wanting to lose her life just as Nola had. There was no other option but to give in. The memories, they could be blocked out, she told herself as the guard drew closer, so close that she could smell his breath. What had she done to deserve this, wondered the girl in those final moments as he drew ever closer. Never in her life had she been a trouble-maker, and yet here she was. Rhyann sucked in a sharp breath, bracing herself for them to snatch her up.

"Uh…hello?"

From behind the guards, Rhyann could visibly see Soris. He had a crossbow strapped to his back, and in his hand, a sword. The guards a whipped around to see what the fuss was. Her cousin took advantage of that moment of confusion and slid the weapon across the cold flooring and over to her.

"Thank you." Whispered Rhyann in a prayer directed towards the Maker as she armed herself with the sword. The idea of even hurting someone put her off, but they had killed Nola and wouldn't hesitate to doing the same to her.

"Oh sod." Cursed the head guard once he had noticed that he had two armed elves to contend with. His own bloodied sword came out once more. He charged for Rhyann.

In a flurry of fear and sorrow, Rhyann swung the sword wildly. Tears streamed down her face as both hands gripped the hilt of the blade tightly. She was screaming, but her ears had temporarily stopped functioning. The only indicator that she was making any noise was a pain in her throat.

The girl's eyes shut steadfast as she continued to swing the weapon like an enraged soldier. Sound started to return to her, but it wasn't what she had expected to hear.

"Ouch!"

"Grab her, Sten!"

Someone exceptionally large lifted Rhyann off of the ground. She fought and flailed against it, but the person was stronger than she. Her whole body was shuddering against the weight of the other individual, and she could hear a great many voices around her, but was far too terrified to open her eyes. She did, however, and the first thing she noticed was that she was clutching a mop tightly in both of her hands. The girl still fought against whoever was restraining her, but her senses were returning.

That Alistair fellow from earlier was in front of her, his hands held up defensively and his warm, honey-colored eyes were wide in shock as he looked on her with confusion. He was at the end of the mop; slight red marks dappled his forehead and other bits of exposed skin, but other than that, he looked otherwise unscathed.

None of this made sense.

Rhyann went limp, but hot tears were still running down her cheeks steadily as she tried to figure out what had happened. She remembered becoming exceptionally frightened when she had lost Lyna in the halls and then…nothing, not until that moment, at least. And yet, here she was, apparently beating down that human man who had been taking care of her and with a mop. This only caused her to dread whatever it was that she had done. These people, they had been nice to her, and for some Maker-forbidden reason, she had acquired a cleaning utensil and assaulted one of them with it. None of which, she remembered.

"Put her down, Sten. I don't think she'll be hitting Al anymore." Lyna's voice rang out.

Instantly, Rhyann was dropped to the ground. She didn't bother to move, except to release her "weapon". Her sobs were heavy, causing her chest to heave every couple of seconds, though she still couldn't put her finger on _why _she had been crying. It didn't seem right, though. She didn't recall where she had acquired the mop, or why she was even assaulting someone to begin with. "I—I'm sorry." Whimpered the girl as she folded her hands into her lap. "I don't know why I did that. I don't even remember doing that."

"If you don't mind, Lyna, I think the dear could use a little fresh air. It's been a stressful few days."

The owner of the voice was an older human woman, wizened in appearance, but with a timeless beauty about her. The clothes she wore were similar to those that the sisters of the Chantry wore, but had no insignia of the church on the chest. It was her kind eyes and soft smile that had Rhyann's attention, however. As if her look were speech, the elven girl could understand her. _You're safe here_ the look suggested.

"Why don't you take her down to the courtyard for a walk, then?" Lyna smiled complacently at the offer. "Of course, only if it's alright with our new guest."

Rhyann's response was reduced to a slow nod. Though she wasn't trying to seem overzealous, was eager to get out of these halls and see the sunlight for the first time in months. Getting to go outside would be the true testament of her freedom. So, when the woman walked up to her and offered her a helping hand, she took it gratefully and rose to her feet.

For the duration of the walk to the courtyard, Rhyann remained silent. All of her thoughts remained on the scene she created in the hallway. To say she was embarrassed would be an understatement. But, the silver-haired woman had an air of compassion about her, one that the elf hadn't felt since being found by this group of people. "You never told me your name." She smiled, albeit faintly, with her words.

"It's Wynne, dear."

It was only a matter of moments until the two females made it outside. Rhyann's eyes grew large at the scene. This Arl Eamon character who apparently owned the estate had the most beautiful of plants. They were of just about every variety and color she could imagine, some even more vibrant that she could ever hope to see. Plants in the Alienage, they were dull and shriveled, most lucky to poke through the grayish dirt that passed as a street. The one exception was the Vhenadahl, with twisting branches and jade leaves that climbed up towards the sun's rays. However, it was venerated, protected as a result of Alienage culture, so to her, it was more of a statue to honor the old ways of her people, not true plantlife.

"I've never seen so many flowers." Cooed Rhyann. Her hands were curiously extended on both sides of her, stroking whatever leaf or petal came her way as she wandered about excitedly.

"I'm sure a great many of these flowers have been brought in from Orlais. The Arl's wife is from there, and I don't doubt if they would decorate their gardens with flowers from her homeland." Wynne's remark was thoughtful. Though, it was obvious that she did not come there to chat about flowers and plants.

"You told Lyna that you didn't recall what had happened in the hallway." The older woman's light pacing had led her towards some purple plants that she was observing with a faint interest. "I don't mean to hurt you or bring back any painful memories, but how much do you really remember of that night…the—the night that you were locked up in that cell?" Every so often, she cast the girl a passing glance as she waited for a response.

Wynne's question was one that Rhyann was familiar with. When she was interrogated, the guards would ask her the same thing, though usually coupled with a firm slap to her face when they thought she was feigning confusion. A phantom pain rose to her left cheek as she recalled, causing her hand to gently cup that side. "I only remember the guards killing Nola, and then nothing." What limited memories she had, while painful to recall, was something that she knew everyone she encountered from this point on would ask about. Tears didn't fall, instead, a look of forlorn regret took her face. "I remember 'waking up'—but, that's probably not the right word—and I was in Vaughan Urien's chambers with two guards restraining my arms. I had blood on my hands, and the bodies of two nobles were spent at my feet. My cousin Shianni was on the far side of the room on the floor. Her face was bruised. And my other cousin Soris was being restrained by two other guards. That's all I can remember."

Wynne motioned for Rhyann to join her on a stone bench where she had recently taken a seat situated between two bushes of blossoming roses. The elf did do dutifully, though her stride was slow, almost leisurely.

"That must be very difficult for you to tell anyone." Wynne was sitting perfectly still, her blue eyes trained on the green counterparts of her companion. "I have seen this happen a few times before in the Circle. When something particularly traumatic happens to an individual, their subconscious will often shut the memory out in order to protect them. The mind is a fascinating thing like that." The older woman paused briefly in order to take a breath. "That's probably why you attacked Alistair. Something must have triggered the memories to be re-lived, but your subconscious doesn't think that you're emotionally ready to cope with what happens, so it keeps hiding them from you."

"The Circle…does that mean you're a mage?"

"Yes, it does. Why? Will this change your opinion on me if I am?"

Rhyann shook her head fervently. "Oh, no ma'am!" Having never met a mage, the small girl didn't know what to expect from one, though she had to figure that they were very similar to the City Elves; they had nowhere to belong in Thedas because others didn't want to take the time to understand them. "I always felt that mages were a lot like me and my kind. You know, treated different because of something we can't help. My ears are pointy and you can do magic, but that doesn't mean we're bad people. But, they lock us up and pretend like we're not there because of that."

Gingerly, the mage patted Rhyann's hand. Her eyes softened as she looked on the girl. "Those are very true words. This is why Arl Eamon feels that it's so important that Alistair takes the throne at the Landsmeet. The boy is inexperienced, but he has a good head on his shoulders, and would do what is best for all peoples of Ferelden."

Rhyann was about to ask what Wynne was talking about when she mentioned Alistair taking the throne when she was interrupted. The doors leading to the courtyard they were in flew open and out charged Soris. At first, his face was blank, stoic. But, when his gaze aligned with his cousin, a big, goofy grin surfaced and he took a light jog in order to get to her quicker.

"Cousin!" His voice boomed excitedly upon reaching her, picking her up with ease and giving her a rough, though affectionate hug. "They told me that you were alive, but I refused to believe it until I saw you alive and awake for myself."

A grin that matched Soris's face met Rhyann's at the sight of her cousin; to say she was overjoyed would be a vast understatement. She readily accepted the hug, her pointed chin resting on his shoulder as her feet dangled off the ground. "I so happy to see you too!" The girl's voice squeaked on the final word, too elated to care.

"I saw the leader of the Wardens, that Lyna woman, right before coming out to see you, cos'. She said that Queen Anora has gotten to the go-ahead and that we can go home tomorrow." Soris plopped Rhyann back down on the bench where she had been seated before he came out, though based on the look on his face, he was still quite giddy about the recent developments.

"Home." The word flowed through her lips like wine as she spoke, happy memories of time with her family surfacing with each second. There was an apprehension that followed, about whether or not the people of the Alienage would treat her differently, but that was overshadowed by her genuine happiness to get to see her father and Shianni again.


	4. Chapter 4

As a note, chapters will probably be updated a bit slower at this point. The reason is that I had the first two chapters written already, and 2/3rds of the third completed when I had first posted the first chapter. Also, I begin work again after the winter holidays tomorrow. I will do my best to post frequently.

Note two: A lot of the Wardens are communal Wardens that I've created with my good friend MikaGesshoku (her pen name on here). I have her permission to use her Wardens, and she, to use mine. Also, we've given the Dalish Origin a younger brother, and the Human Noble, a twin sister. Neither sibling are Wardens, but they _do _travel with them.

Dragon Age and all affiliated characters and ideas belong to Bioware and Electronic Arts.

* * *

Every able-bodied individual present at Arl Eamon's estate was rushing around to prepare for the Wardens' trek into the Alienage that morning. Elves flitted about the halls in droves, each with armfuls of different provisions in their grasp. Many of which seemed to be carting along freshly polished and cleaned weapons; Lyna was sure that there was going to be some conflict within the walled community, hence the reason why they were only just being allowed in, and because the Queen had demanded it.

Rhyann had exited her room early that morning. After two days of nothing but sleep, and the anticipation of returning home buzzing around in her head, sleep was something that refused her. That was fine by her, though. The estate was so large, its walls sprawling out larger than even the walls of the Alienage, she wagered, so she had a grand time exploring. Getting lost came with her curiosity, but someone _always_ seemed to be awake in order to point her in the right direction.

When she wandered out into the corridor after fixing her hair up in a high ponytail, she could see that all of the servants were frenzied with their tasks. All she knew about this was that Lyna and her companions would be escorting her back home that day. The Warden Lyna's whereabouts were a mystery to her. A rather troubled-looking elf was several feet from her door, holding several large swords and talking to himself in a distressed fashion. To Rhyann, he seemed like as good a person as any to provide her with some directions.

"Uh…excuse me?" Due to the excitement filling the estate with sound, her small voice did little to draw the man's attention. Still, she waited, patiently, as it was. He continued to mutter to himself, causing the elven girl to approach and tap his shoulder lightly.

The male elf whipped around in a frenzied fashion, eyes bugged out of their sockets until he saw that the cause of his fright was an unassuming young elven girl. "Here! Take these and give them to the Wardens. I was told they're with Eamon in the Great Hall." The swords he possessed were quickly shoved onto Rhyann, who struggled to hold each of the sheathed weapons in her arms.

"I'm not—"

"—I need to be scrubbing the floors in the Dining Hall after the mess that the smelly dwarf made, so you need to deliver that for me."

It was clear that there was a case of mistaken identity going on, but Rhyann didn't question it. This was something that was quite commonplace in her life, and learned at a young age that it was far easier just to play along until someone else, someone in a place of power, pointed out that she wasn't who she was originally thought to be. The man hurried off towards the Dining Hall, leaving the girl alone once again. "I guess I'll just…take these to the Wardens, then." She adjusted her arms once, causing the weapons to clank loudly against one another.

On her way down to the Great Hall that she was instructed towards, Rhyann noticed a great many elves going about similar tasks as her, and towards her end destination as well. Like her, some were carrying weapons. But, a few still were transporting heavy-looking armor, and fewer even with burlap sacks that sounded as though they were filled with glass vials when then jostled. Following the other elves made it easier to traverse the halls, but it did cause her to become a bit nervous; large crowds always made her feel uneasy, even before the business with Vaughan Urien.

The stairs that she was descending opened up to a grand chamber lit by a multitude of candles hanging from an ornate iron chandelier. The Wardens who had saved her were present, many of which employing the help of Arl Eamon's servants to help them equip their armor and weapons properly. It was quite the scene: bony elven fingers weaving through metal and leather in attempt to make sure that each piece of armor was sized properly to its owner. One of Lyna's companions, a blonde elf who was currently being dressed in a well-embroidered set of leather garments, seemed to be enjoying the attention that the two elves who were dressing him in his cuirass and battle skirt were paying him. An older man wearing expensive-looking silks and a pretty blonde woman were standing near the exit as well; Rhyann figured that they had to be this Eamon person everyone she had spoken with had mentioned and the Queen. But, she could have been wrong.

Out of necessity to draw attention to herself, but not bold enough to shout, Rhyann cleared her throat several times. Hardly anyone took notice, save an elf or two who would cast an eye at the strange little girl who was not returning the blades to their owners. She tried again, this time, making a noise reminiscent of clearing her throat of an excessive amount of phlegm. A few more heads turned, this time, drawing the attention of the head Warden, who was currently buckling a pair of greaves to her legs.

"Oh, dear." She said aloud, her eyes scanning the situation. "I'm sorry that you were forced to carry those down here. Just put them down wherever; my friends are big kids and can come and get their weapons for themselves."

A few of the Dalish woman's companions grumbled at the thought, mainly, a pair of self-entitled looking humans with fair blonde hair and looked very similar to one another. They whispered amongst themselves, about which, Rhyann couldn't make out, even with her able ears. Eventually, the male approached and grabbed a bow from the heap in front of the girl. He had a pair of daggers already, so when he returned to his companion and handed her the bow, it wasn't much of a shock.

When Lyna was finished with securing armor to herself, she approached. Her purple eyes scanned the weapons, even going so far as to pick up one of the long swords and unsheathe it in order to inspect its blade with careful fingers along the edge. "Wade does good work, I must say." Her remark was humorous, as if she was recounting something particularly funny.

"I was going to ask if you could carry a weapon," Continued that Dalish woman, putting the weapon back into its rightful spot, "but with the way you assaulted Al yesterday, I think the answer is clear. Why don't you take one of these swords? You never know what kind of situation we might find ourselves in before we get you home."

Just as Lyna had, Rhyann's attention danced over the gleaming metal, but for a much more brief period of time. They _seemed_ well-made, as far as an elf without proper smithing knowledge would know. The woman's second statement is what struck her, however. Shaking her head wildly and throwing her hands up in protest was all she could do to express her dislike of that particular suggestion. "No, no, no, no! I…I can't. Elves aren't allowed to carry weapons in the Alienage. I'll get in trouble!" The Wardens, of course, we exempt from this particular law, but she and Soris would not be so lucky.

Lyna only smirked mischievously. "Eh." She shrugged. "We'll just have one of the boys carry some of the extra swords I commissioned for you. When we get to the Alienage, you can take one. Anora assured me that Loghain had all the guards stationed elsewhere anyway."

After the weapons were squared away and Arl Eamon offered his words of prayer for their mission into the Alienage, the group set off for their location. Rhyann observed each of these Wardens with interest, trying to decide what kind of people they were, and if it were safe to venture close to them as she walked. Alistair, Lyna, and Wynne were nice, and she remembered the pretty, red-haired lady with the Orlesian accent to be as well from when she was locked up in her cell, so she decided that staying nearest them would be her best bet. Her amble was several steps behind Wynne and Alistair, who were talking, oddly enough, about his dirty socks.

As she was scanning their environment, which currently resulted in whiffing the sweet-smelling air outside of a quaint bakery in the Market District, something slick and wet met her hand. Initially, Rhyann froze, feeling a shiver crawl up her spine from the point of contact. When her eyes flickered over to her appendage, however, a pair of big brown eyes connected with hers.

The Mabari hound let out a great, excited wuff when he successfully got her attention. His stubby tail wagged proudly as he ran circles around her playfully. He was nearly as tall as she, and three times as muscular. Still, it was obvious that the dog was a benevolent soul, one who would only hurt someone if they were hurting his master.

"Well, hi there, boy!" She beamed, reaching out and stroking his soft ears whenever his laps would lead him in front of you.

"His name's Ser Bacon." Confirmed Alistair as he looked at her from over his shoulder. "He's Lyna's dog, but he's sort of a mascot for the lot of us, I suppose."

"Ser Bacon?" Rhyann tested the words out in her mouth.

The dog wuffed happily as if to confirm that she was right.

"That's a fine name for a mighty warhound like you. We only have Rat Terriers in the Alienage; you could probably swallow one of them whole."

Almost suddenly, the foulest of odors met Rhaynn's nostrils. Her stomach churned in an unsettling fashion and she felt as though she might be sick. To accompany the smell, a dwarf shuffled over. He had flaming red hair and a big belly. It was obvious that he was drunk. All of this caused the girl to sidestep several paces to put some distance between them. Judging by that axe he was carrying, he was one of the more dangerous friends that Lyna kept. "Quick! Grab the sodding mutt while it's close so I can saddle it!" He demanded. His gruff voice was animated with enthusiasm.

Rhyann's left eyebrow rose quizzically. The way the dwarven man spoke was in a half-joking manner. And, his eyes sparkled with mirth. "Why would I do that?"

"Because!" He boomed, his stubby arms flailing about as he spoke. "Lyna won't let me ride the damned beast, but she might let me if I say that the pipsqueak was looking puckish. Then, you can give me a _teensy_ ride when the boss lady has her back turned." By _pipsqueak_, he was obviously referring to her. He laughed heartily, hands clutching his large belly as it bounced up and down.

The way the dwarf mentioned her height caused Rhyann to cross her arms and stare at him in dislike. Her small stature was always a point of insecurity for her, and when anyone but her brought it up, she became angry. But, she wasn't an idiot, and also knew to bite her tongue when the words were coming from a heavily armed man, and she, without a single weapon.

"Y'know, I saw the way you were beating down the little pike twirler yesterday." The dwarf mentioned, an impish tone in his voice. "You sure you ain't a berserker?"

"I don't know what a berserker is."

Lyna threw her arm up in order to shush all conversations happening amongst her group. They were at the gates leading into the Alienage now, and their leader needed silence in order to gain their entry into that particular part of Denerim.

"I have official document, stating that me and my group of Wardens are to be let into the Alienage." Though Rhyann was at a disadvantage to see what was happening, she could hear as Lyna handed something over to the men manning the gate.

"This has Queen Anora's seal on it." One of the guards observed.

"Then, we have no choice but to let them in."

In several minutes, the iron gates that prevented them from getting into the Alienage rose, and the group were able to head in.

Things were different that Rhyann recalled. While poor and under-privileged, the Alienage was once filled with song and laughter. Now, the bodies of the sick and the dying littered the street, and the only sounds were those of suffering, and in the distance, it sounded like disgruntled chanting. The sallow eyes of those more derelict that she looked up at the small elf as she continued along, some, wide in recognition of someone who was previously thought to be dead. The others, they were far too hungry and tired to care.

Rhaynn's house was near the entrance, and when the door rose in the distance, the girl couldn't help but break out in a run towards the shabby building. Apparently, Soris had the same idea, and met her at the home that they had shared since childhood. Both of their hands reached out for the handle in unison, and when their fingers met, their gazes locked.

"You should open it, Cousin." Soris relented, removing his hand. "Uncle would probably be happier to see you first anyway."

Gulping hard, butterflies rose to the elf's stomach as her skin met the cold metal handle. She gave it a twist, feeling it give to what little pressure she applied in order to open it. Under the slight force she had given, the door swung open. Both she and Soris walked in together, their fingers lacing together so they might share in the experience.

The house was devoid of any life. No fire roared in the hearth. No Shianni. No Father. Rhyann's heart sank as she walked around the room in a frenzied state in order to find something that would point to their whereabouts. "Where is father?" Said the girl aloud, though rhetorically. She looked to Soris, hoping for answers, but he seemed to be in the same state of confusion that she was currently in.

"What are you doing in my uncle's home?" There was no mistaking that brash voice in Rhyann's mind. Every syllable reeked of her cousin Shianni, even down do the mildly threatening tone. Her suspicions were confirmed as she turned around to see her cousin standing there, gripping a makeshift bow tightly. Her eyebrows were furrowed in frustration.

"Have you forgotten your cousins so easily?" Soris was grinning. His hands were placed on his hips in order to complete the image.

"Oh sweet Maker! Soris! Rhyann!" The red-haired elf dropped her crude bow onto the splintered wood of the floor. The surly look she was casting melted as she ran up and wrapped her arms around both of them joyously. "The guards told us that you both were executed—we had a funeral and everything." She was crying now, but only two little tears were rolling down her face.

When she pulled away, the happiness was gone, instead, rage. "It's horrible! They've been taking our sick—they took Uncle Cyrion just yesterday! Something has to be done."

"Wait, start over, please." In walked Lyna, closely followed by Alistair, who seemed just as curious as her. "I don't mean to pry into family issues, but this sounds pretty severe."

"Then, you should probably take a seat, because this is a long story."

Everyone present took a seat around the table as Shianni explained the turmoil that the Alienage had found itself in. Apparently, a group of Tevinter magisters had shown up recently and set up a hospice. They claimed that a mysterious illness had been afflicting the elves, and started to take some in for care. Some, against their will, even. But, the thing was, while they claimed that they were helping people, not a one elf has left the hospice after they had entered. Just the day before, Cyrion, Rhyann's father, had went to receive treatment, but hadn't been seen since.

"This _is_ horrible, Lyna!" Rhyann bolted from her chair, howling madly as her tiny hands braced against the table. "Whoever they are, they have my father! We need to do something!" A fire had ignited deep within the girl. It wasn't contained and weak, like a candle flame, but a powerful and strong forest fire. She needed to go with, to save her father and to save her people. Maybe this is why the Maker had spared her, so that she could save the lives of everyone taken into that hospice.

"This is probably why Anora had sent us here. You should probably stay behind with Soris and Shianni, though." Lyna had risen as well. She placed her hands on the girl's shoulders in an empathetic gesture.

"No." Shaking away the Dalish's touch, Rhyann headed for the door quickly. While she was small, and possessed little strength, this was her attempt at barring them in. "They have _my_ father, and I'm going with, regardless of what you think."

Lyna sighed. "Okay, okay. You can come with. But, I'm not going to put you on the front lines. I would feel bad about saving you, only to have you die in combat."


End file.
